Reader It is Jane

The elevator doors were closing-again.

Zaria's heart pounded as she sprinted across the lobby in heels that had no business sprinting. "Hold the elevator, please!" she called out.

A hand darted out and pressed the button just in time. The chrome doors jerked open again with a mechanical sigh.

She stumbled in, grateful and out of breath, barely looking up. "Thanks, I-" Her words trailed off when she saw him.

The man beside her was a fortress in a suit. Tall, broad-shouldered, and impossibly still. His sharp profile was carved like cold marble-jaw clenched, eyes unreadable behind steel-framed glasses. The suit he wore was cut so perfectly it must have been stitched into his skin.

He didn't acknowledge her.

Zaria pressed her floor number, then folded her arms, pretending not to feel the frost in the air. Just as the doors began to close, a man in construction boots shoved an arm between them and stepped in.

Three's a crowd.

Zaria inched to the side, letting the new guy-sweaty, loud, and reeking of paint-stand between them. The elevator creaked upward.

"Nice dress," the paint guy said to her, leering. "Tight in all the right places."

Zaria stiffened, offering only a polite, dismissive smile. She didn't want trouble, not at 8:57 a.m., not before coffee.

He didn't get the hint.

"Where you headed after work, sweetheart? Bet you'd look even better outta that dress."

Before she could respond, a sudden movement whipped past her.

The man in the suit stepped forward.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't violent. It was precise. Like a blade through silence.

The paint guy was suddenly backed into the elevator wall, a forearm pressing hard against his chest. The suited man's voice was calm, lethal.

"Touch her, speak to her again, and you'll leave in an ambulance. No second chances."

The construction worker paled. "Alright, alright-chill, man. Damn."